Category: Blog

How many times have you fallen out of your chair? In my 14 years of paralyzedville, I believe it’s been about 12 times or so, I can vivdly remember each time. I remember because it’s embarrassing. I remember because it hurts! And I remember because it’s a brutal reminder of how much I *really* depend on my chair. And I REALLY don’t like the latter part. It also doesn’t help that I can’t get back in it without help.

As I wheel around each day, working, visiting friends, going out, doing my day-to-day mundane activities, I forget how much I really rely on my chair. I forget I’m even using one sometimes, at the height of my business (I really love when this part happens). But then of course that’s usually when I roll by a mirrored-wall and see my reflection, getting reminded just how disabled I really look to the public. It’s crazy and very much an out of body experience.

One of the first times I fell out of my chair was in the middle of winter. I had an old conversion van with a lift, which my brother was operating. He was impatient, thought I had already rolled off the lift, and started bringing it back up, in the process flipping my chair over, with me getting a nice face full of snow. Oh the memories. My front caster wheels had been off the lift, but not my back wheels, hence why I flipped. I sometimes still wonder if my brother feels any regret from the day.

Another time I fell out was during my college days. I was walking with Mike, my blind friend, down the street one day in the middle of summer. I had taken some painkillers earlier on in the day due to a recent surgery I had and, “Whammy!” I got all dizzy suddenly, lost my already horrid balance, and fell out. And why o why does it always seems like I’m in slow-motion everytime this happens? Just another weird thing about chair life I guess.

I’ve been lucky. Out of all the times I’ve fallen out, at least someone was nearby to help. Can you imagine how scary it’d be to fall out and be all alone? I don’t even want to imagine.

Over the weekend, I experienced an agonizing, two nights in a row nightmare of an insomnia attack. It was horrid. I used to be like this as a kid, but thankfully, as I grew up, I grew out of it; until recently that is. I know the recent family stress that I’ve been going through is the likely culprit, but after I found a solution to my family drama just last week, I thought I’d be on the road to blissful peace within my soul (are you liking the melodrama?).

So last Sunday I woke up with this nasty Unisom hangover, sleep-deprived condition that probably made me the bitchiest person in Minneapolis that day. And that was the day I was scheduled to see the “Pompeii” exhibit at the Minnesota Science Museum with my friend Nicholas, and a group of people from his Unitarian church (they were really cool by the way…thinking about going). I was determined to not let Mr. Sandman’s hiatus from my life ruin my weekend plans (and I’ve been itching to see the “Pompeii” exhibit for weeks), so I went and picked-up Nicholas, so we could head on over to St. Paul to the museum (after downing a coffee and Red Bull, of course).

We saw the exhibit. It was pretty cool, but I could feel my caffeine-high wearing off. “Needs more coffee!” my zombie brain screamed at my consciousness. So off I went to the coffee shop down in the lobby. As I waited for the elevator to get down there, the worst thing that could’ve happened to me at that moment, did: I was getting crabbier by the second, my whole body (even my cheek muscles!) ached like crazy, and I was annoyed by every person walking by me….so of course, in comes an old lady – right-up in my face – saying the most condescending thing to me ever, in the most condescending tone EVER: “How are YOU today?” she asks me at 10 decibels louder than needed, as if I were deaf or something. I was set-off. I looked at her like I were Lucifer himself and asked her as rudely as possible, “Why are you talking to me like that??” I demanded of her.

*silence* 

She then mumbled something incoherently and the elevator door opened just then. Save me Jebus! I quickly got inside and went down to the coffee shop, ordering a latte with an extra shot of espresso for good measure.

Lesson learned? Don’t leave the house when sleep deprived. 

So be careful, all of you city-dwelling, wheelchair-usin’, subway-riders out there….or else this awful thing could happen to YOU!

Fresh from the New York Post: Subway Clips Wheelchair-User in NYC

She’s alive (she’s some 50-something lady, disability not yet released), but has serious head injuries.

And as we all know head injuries = MAJOR owies. Usually, unhealable owies too.

Poor thing. What a way to go.

– Tiff

It’s not uncommon for me to be subjected to a variety of openly rude and sometimes idiotic questions, thanks to my more than visible disability. I live in the downtown area of a major metropolitan city and there is a wide array of “crazies” that litter my ‘hood. Some are your common drunkards, some are your “ghetto fabulous” wanna-be gang bangers who have a thing for blondes (wheelchair or no), some are your recent immigrants from Somalia, India, or Mexico and have never in their lives seen an attractive and seemingly “healthy” (then “why does she need a wheelchair?” they confusingly think to themselves) woman needing to use a wheelchair. All of these people, and even your mildly-educated suburbanite will accost me with inquiring questions, blatantly, as I meander my way down the street.

And I gotta admit something: I’m damn sick and tired of it. I believe there comes a time in every disabled person’s life when they reach a limit, a peak if you will, to how much they can handle when it comes to rude questions regarding their disability. And when they’ve reached their arbitrary “limit,” things start to get a bit crazy. You just don’t know what they’re gonna do or say the next time some idiot comes up to them with a rude question that they’ve probably already heard 678 times in their life.

I’m pretty sure I reached my limit a few years ago. It first noticed I finally had had enough, and couldn’t just answer politely anymore like I had been, when I was at my neighborhood gas station grabbing a few things during a midday junk-food binge. An overweight white dude wearing a too-small dirty white tee shirt (with his gut half-way hanging out), came up to me and asked me, point blank, “So what’s wrong with YOU?” I had had enough right there. I don’t know if I finally by the grace of God had accrued some kind of Hulk-like self-confidence, but I had the balls to reply to him – without hitting a miss – “Absolutely nothing. I’m just lazy and don’t like walking. What the F*** is wrong with you?!” I answered back; looking back at him dead in the eyes. It was so awesome. I felt like some super hero and something, and was ready to knock down the nearby stacked pile of Coke cases, just to show him he had messed with the wrong gimp.

Now to be fair, I want to say I fully realize that a lot of able-bodied people don’t MEAN to be rude, impolite, etc. “They just can’t help being inquisitive,” my family (and friends) remind me. But why is it that able-bodied folks feel it’s totally ok to ignore the usual social graces of politeness? I mean, I can’t go up to a lady that’s clearly 200lbs overweight and ask her what happened to her emotionally that she let herself get to that point? Or, I most definitely can’t go up to a guy who’s wearing a totally outdated suit and ask him why his fashion-sense is severely lacking? No. It’s considered totally rude and no one ever does it. But with the disabled, it’s a no-license-required, free for all shootout barrage of questions.

I’ve been asked and told everything from, “What’s wrong with you?” to “You’re too pretty to be in a wheelchair,” to “Do you need help?” (when I’m just sitting by a bench using my cell; apparently I look helpless 24/7), to “Slow down there, young lady. You might get a speeding ticket!” (which they laugh at for a minute or so, because they seriously think they’re the first person to think of that joke), to the classic, “Oh you poor thing.”

I’m extremely pleased with myself that I’ve gotten to the point in my “disability experience” that I can now combat openly rude questions in a fast and witty manner, usually knocking the unsuspecting idiot from their train of thought, giving me just enough time to zip away from them before they have time to assimilate any follow-up questions.

And yes, we SCI’ers and other people with mild to severe disabilities are totally cleared to use it!

Definition: “Gallows humor is a type of humor that arises from stressful, traumatic or life-threatening situations such as accidents, wartime events, natural disasters; often in circumstances where death is perceived as impending and unavoidable. It is similar to black comedy but differs in that it is made by the person affected.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallows_humor

 Go ahead, make fun of yourself! It’ll make you feel better I swear!

– Tiff